


Those stories in which we deal

by lightline



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Historical AU, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightline/pseuds/lightline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those who rose, they scattered the decades, scattered the eras. They held secrets, tales, knowledge that people thought were lost. Chosen to rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those stories in which we deal

As unprecedented as events were in November 2009, the world was not quite expecting the impact it would have. Who would rise from those graves, who would push through wood, dirt and stone to emerge into that storm that had wrecked the world. At first it was believed that they were chosen, bodies the same as they were as they died. They were the Redeemed, and how beautiful they were. Speaking of events from eons ago, lost in their own time, trying to find roads that no longer exist, trying to find people that have long since rotted away.

No one is quite sure why or how it happened, even 5 years later. Though at least the world is at relative peace, through the use of drugs and medicines that cured the incurable. Norfolk stands as the best re-habitation centre for the Sufferers, for those chosen to return. It teaches them of their past, of the time they came from, but also the years past that. The years that they have missed. Of course, many are without the skills to read and write, the education system barely formed when many of them lived

Communities become diluted with members from all walks of life. Those who don’t know a mobile from a phone, and those who don’t even know what a phone is. Who rarely saw a telegram or read a newspaper when they walked the earth. The place where the first rose, Roarton, is no exception. 

At times, it is no wonder it has been nicknamed ‘the valley of the shadow of death’

\----

When Simon Monroe resurfaces into the unsuspecting world he finds himself lost and alone, like many before him. He can’t find where things he knew so well before are, he can’t understand the advances in technology, the movement of history. At first, it scares him more than anything, this overwhelming amount of information that he should never have experienced, is unnatural for him to do so. But there is support, support from those that he doesn't trust. But he welcomes it, trying to seek out anything he can. 

When he is recruited into the ULA, it is a place where he finds some value, finds some normality that he can relate to. A structure that he conform is life to, that he can follow with ease. He is lucky to find Amy Dyer and her ways there, lucky to find someone who has the effort to guide him the best she can with the limited knowledge she has of this new world. Someone he can trust in a world of lies and mistrust, of those who would exploit his willingness to help.

Son of a merchant, he had watched as the blight had taken hold. Watched as corn was exported but none imported. He watched a collapse of a nation, watched the rise of anarchy. And who’s to say he didn’t join in? Fights in the dockyard to earn a few coins, trying with all his might to try and hunt down a few scraps of food, enough to get by. A few more coins to scrounge some liquor, to numb the pain of the worry, of the everlasting fear for his family. 

All the while he had watched and waited. Waited for an escape, but they hadn’t been able to escape in time, hadn’t been able to migrate. 

He still has nightmares about the blight, about the suffering that the population endured. He can still feel the last breath of his sister on his face in that early morning light, the sun spilling through the open window. Another victim to the plague which had ravaged and destroyed. 500,000 dead. He knows it from the history books they had made him read in Norfolk, allowing him to place himself in time. 

On the morn of leaving for Roarton, he picks up his bag and stares out of the window, to the landscape he has become familiar with. He can’t decide whether he is excited or scared at the prospect of moving on, at finding new things about this fascinating world in which he has been allowed to sneak a glance at. 

\----

Amy Dyer is wrapped in secrets, from head to toe. If they were visible, it is as if they were strangling her. But she remains buoyant, smiling and grinning despite the pressure that pushes down on her. Even though her secrets have long been forgotten, people losing interest in them. But she holds the key for so many secrets, so many loop holes in history. She knows to be thankful the illness got her before they could seek her out. Knows to be grateful for the pain of the bullet she knows to be destined for.

A fallen woman. It was what began her downfall from grace, from the upper class worships and graces to the streets. No better than the average beggar. So, of course, she needed to find her feet, needed to find some way to survive. She was clever back then, more than the average Victorian exposed to the sparse education system offered to those privileged few. Granted, she had been given a inherited advantage in the way of her family roots, allowing her to spend childhood years sitting on the floor of the library. The wealth of books, the overflow of knowledge, it had taught her more than she needed to know, more than many would like her to know. She dealt in the art of secrets, trading them for bigger ones, hiding things out of human kindness against human nature. The nature to want to tell someone everything, the desire to spill the beans. 

When she first sets eyes on the pale man with the jet black hair, she is intrigued. Not for his secrets, but for his kindness. For the fact he has no idea of her time, of the people she knows. She adores his ignorance, adores his blissful, beautiful ignorance. The same goes for the bronze haired boy with the mousse, though he knows how to deal with his own secrets. A trade of death tales made in a graveyard. 

When she returns to him, she doesn’t know what to expect.


End file.
